


Shifts

by kscribbles



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage, First Time, Fluff, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:51:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2814269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscribbles/pseuds/kscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had all this long night, after all, in this little bed, by the fire, beneath a storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shifts

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [nonelvis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nonelvis/pseuds/nonelvis) for fabulously and patiently beta'ing this, as well as giving me the original inspiring prompt. Also, it's been three and a half years since I've written a full-length Doctor Who fic. I'm... back? Have some smuff (smutty fluff!).

**shift**  
noun  
 _1\. a slight change in emphasis, position, direction, or focus.  
3\. [historical] a long, loose-fitting undergarment._

 

"How much farther is it?" Rose asked, trudging through the English countryside in what seemed like only barren hills and open field for miles and miles around.

"It’s just over this rise, Rose. Not long now."

"You said that two hours ago, Doctor.”

“Okay, I was a bit off in the coordinates. But only a bit.”

"A bit?"

"A few miles is all. I got the right… region."

"In these heels, in this dress"—she shook the beaded gown for emphasis—"on this grass? In 18—what?"

"10. It’s 1810."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he half-whined, sounding offended.

“In these heels, in this dress, on this grass, in 1810, when it looks like it’s about to rain any second? I’ll be lucky if I’m not a complete mess by the time we get to the _party of the decade_. They’ll chuck us out."

"Then we’ll have our own party, Rose."

His bright smile warmed her heart, but her returning smile faded as they crested the hill they’d been walking up. No late spring revelers dressed to the 19th century nines, spilling from a line of ornamented carriages leading up to a ‘palatial, stately home in its elegant prime,’ like the Doctor had promised. Nothing much at all. A smallish stone cottage in the distance, and a single, rickety-looking horse-pulled wagon approaching it. 

"Just over this rise?" Rose said, nodding toward the distance.

"The next rise?" He had the decency to look a little sheepish. "It can’t be far. I can carry you, in chivalrous fashion, if your feet hurt?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, but she was holding back laughter.

"Or not."

"One more mile, Doctor, and then we’re heading back to the TARDIS where you can chivalrously give me a foot rub. One mile."

"Deal," he agreed, and they started heading down the hill.

Before they reached the bottom of the hill, the wind picked up and a loud clap of thunder sounded from above, ringing out over the small valley. Rose sighed and they both looked up at the sky.

"Maybe the rain will hold?" the Doctor said hopefully.

"England hasn’t changed _that_ much, Doctor." As if on cue, almost before she’d finished her sentence, the rain began. Big fat drops, few and far in-between for a few moments, and then quickly shifting to a steady downpour. 

Rose frowned from beneath her wet hair.

 

It wasn't long after that that a horse's loud whinny rang out over the valley, cutting even through the sound of the downpour. The carriage not so far ahead of them seemed to have gotten stuck, the horse in some distress, and its owner, a woman, they could see now, was clambering down, and kneeling in the grass that was quickly turning to a sea of mud.

"Looks like someone could use our help?" Rose suggested.

"It's what we do," he said cheerfully, sonic already in hand, giving it a flip in the rain for good measure. He began to jog towards the woman, and Rose ambled behind, deeply regretting her footwear choice.

"Hello," he said when he was in shouting distance. "I’m the Doctor, this is Rose, can we help?"

"What are the two of you doing out in weather like this?" the woman shouted through the rain.

"We were heading to the manor house and our… carriage got stuck in the mud as well. Figured we’d walk and… here we are."

"Well, the manor house is miles away, sir."

"He’s rubbish at directions," Rose shouted helpfully as she caught up.

"I’m not rubbish with saving ladies in distress, though, am I?"

"He’s not terrible at that," Rose granted. "Mostly."

"Well if your husband can get me out of this mess," the woman said to Rose as she stood and ineffectually tried to clean off her muddy hands on her cloak, "he’s a godsend. I can’t get the wheel out of this muck, and I think my mare has thrown a shoe as well."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at Rose at the ‘husband’ comment, but neither said a word about it. Instead the Doctor brandished his sonic, then whilst clutching it in his teeth, stripped off his sodden coat and suit jacket and handed the pile to her. 

"Allow me," the Doctor said, slowly approaching the horse.

The woman stepped back. If she was surprised by the Doctor’s odd tech, she didn’t say anything.

The horse was whining, spooked by the thunder, and unable to bolt, hitched as she was to a stuck cart. Rose watched in awe as the Doctor soothed the beast with some whispers at her ears. His soothing sounds continued and he moved back toward the horse’s hindquarters to see about her shoe.

 

In the space of half an hour, night had solidly fallen and the rain hadn't let up in the slightest. But Miss Barrow's mare was resting comfortably in the stable, and Rose and the Doctor were shaking off rainwater in the entry to the cottage they'd seen earlier, their lodging for the night, at the insistence of their grateful host.

"You can have my sister’s room," the woman said as the Doctor and Rose stood dripping in her front room. Her voice ebbed as she shuffled through the cottage, while they looked at their well-kept, but well-worn surroundings. 

"She got married last month, my sister did. Took nearly everything but the bed and a chair. But there are dry logs, and I can lend you a dry shift to sleep in." The woman reappeared from the hall, placing a small bundle in Rose's hands. "But I’m afraid I haven’t got anything to suit your husband."

"He's really not—" Rose began, before reconsidering correcting the woman, "—picky."

“We’ll manage just fine," the Doctor said. "And we appreciate your kindness.”

“Piffle. It’s the least I could do.”

"Thanks all the same," Rose added. "I'm not sure I'd have made it another dozen steps."

The woman nodded, seemed uncomfortable with their gratitude. "It's just there." She pointed to the first door along the hallway. "You'll forgive this old woman for not offering you something to warm your bellies. I'll make it up to you in the morning. I'm taking these old bones to bed."

With that, the woman grabbed one of the candles from atop her warped pianoforte and disappeared down the opposite hallway, leaving them in only the dim light of the one remaining sputtering candle.

"Shall we take our old bones to bed as well?" the Doctor asked, scooping up the candle.

Despite being dripping wet and freezing, Rose felt a little sizzle of heat rush through her, and let it burn up to her already flushed cheeks, knowing the relative dark would cover it.

"Before I die of pneumonia in 1810? Yeah," she said, trying to keep her teeth from chattering, "good plan."

 

The Doctor had a fire lit in the small, only slightly dusty room in no time at all. As their hostess had mentioned, there was little else apart from a chair and a bed. Rose tried not to think of how tiny it was, the kind _really_ not meant for two. And would he even need sleep tonight? Would he be gentlemanly and kip on the chair if he did? It didn't look very comfortable. The bed, on the other hand, with several blankets laid atop it, looked inviting and warm... but not while she was in a dripping wet dress. There was one other piece of decor in the room, an old-timey dressing screen, and Rose secreted herself behind it to change while the Doctor stood around awkwardly with his hands in wet pockets.

The dress had been difficult getting on on her own earlier; it was a nightmare trying to take the thing off while it was soaked heavily through. She stopped just short of asking the Doctor for his help. In this small, damp space, filling quickly with the comforting scent of woodsmoke, it felt like an impossible intimacy, somehow. Though once she did manage it, and was naked behind the screen, while the Doctor went on about all the interesting people that would be at this soiree they would almost certainly never make it to... well, that felt pretty intimate too. She shook the thought away, suppressing a shiver, and shrugged into the warm, dry shift, before emerging to lay out her clothes, unders and all, in front of the fire. 

"Your hair's still dripping," the Doctor said, stopping his ramble on the history of the manor house's construction midstream. 

Was he... staring?

"It will dry," she said simply, squeezing out as much moisture as she could, the drops of rainwater falling to the brick in front of the fire and sizzling slightly. When that was done, feeling even more chilled than when she was drenched head to toe, she made a beeline for the bed and hopped beneath the blankets there.

"You won't, though," she said, when neither of them had spoken for a minute.

"What?" His slight squeak was almost drowned out by a clap of thunder.

"You won't dry," she clarified. And then, throwing caution to the wind, made what was really the only sensible suggestion. Tiny bed or no. "Get your wet kit off and come to bed. I'm freezing." 

He raised an eyebrow at her, or maybe she imagined that with the flickering of the firelight. 

"All right," he said softly, almost to himself. Then, more loudly, "If it will help you get to sleep. We've got more walking to do tomorrow."

She groaned dramatically, turned to her side, facing the wall, and burrowed beneath the covers. From beneath her nest of blankets, she could still hear him rustling behind the screen. Had she got undressed so _loudly_?

"Okay," he said after a moment.

"Okay..." she parrotted dumbly.

"I'm..." 

In that one syllable, she could practically hear his hands moving, his eyes darting about, and she finally realised. Now the _Doctor_ was naked behind the screen.

"I'm hiding beneath the duvet," she assured him. "Freezing, remember? Can't see a thing."

Some more shuffling, and she knew he was laying his clothes out next to hers beside the fire. A few seconds later, the small bed dipped beside her, and there was a ripple of cold air as he slipped beneath the blankets, lying stiffly, his body only barely not touching hers.

"We could borrow her horse, I suppose," the Doctor said to the ceiling, as if he were thinking out loud.

"What? For what?"

"Getting back to the TARDIS. If it's still raining."

"And then what, Doctor? Buttercup gets a ride on the TARDIS to get back to her mistress?" 

"Em..."

"No more horses on the TARDIS, Doctor, all right? I can walk."

"Right. Okay."

"Okay," she agreed. 

"Are you..." he began, and then paused, seemed to shift his train of thought. "... Still cold?"

"Yes."

He sighed, and it sounded... like a decision. He shifted to his side as well and scooched closer to her, moulding the front of his body to the back of hers. _Oh_. His entirely, very naked front. She'd assumed that before, but hadn't expected that she'd be able to _tell_ through the thin gown she wore, to feel the contours of each thigh, practically feel the hairs on them, and of course, what lay in between, soft and the warmest part of him. She desperately willed herself to shift her thoughts away from contemplating his body. They'd both been soaked through. Nudity was... perfectly reasonable.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

And then his arm came around her middle, and... there was something. A shift in the tension between them. If the Doctor didn't mind spooning in a tiny bed, why should she be nervous at his proximity, at this intimacy? That would be silly. This was _them_ , after all. Cuddling for warmth, nothing more. Not much different than hugging after a day's adventure. If... with less clothing. No big deal. After a moment, she snuggled back against him contentedly and sighed with pleasure. She was comfortable. A little turned on, sure, but she'd let that simmer and fizzle as she always did. She was warm, and happy, and felt safe. Which in this life of theirs, wasn't always a given. 

"Better?" he asked into her damp hair, his arm tightening a fraction around her.

"Mmm," she affirmed, feeling further warmth and relaxation suffuse her, already feeling herself begin to properly relax, her body on its way to sleep.

Minutes passed, with only the steady drumming of the rain, the slight crackling of the fire, and their breathing disturbing the silence. And just as she started to drift off, her eyes snapped open. Had she been dreaming, or had she just felt the Doctor's lips press gently against the back of her neck? But no, there they were again, a definite... kiss? 

"Doctor?" she whispered. 

"Yeah?" His voice was hushed too. 

"What...?"

"I'm just checking your temperature. Making sure you're all right. You were very cold before, your skin is still a little clammy, and honestly, my lips are especially sensitive to temperature fluctuations and..." 

"Oh." She tried not to sound disappointed. Tried not to think of her mum's hand on her forehead when she was a child. She banished the image and focused on being wrapped in the Doctor's arms. "Is that all?" she asked, hearing her own voice sound low and a bit gravelly. And if _that_ sounded in any way seductive, well, she could just say it was because she was sleepy. 

"Well, yes. I wouldn't..." He paused for a long moment, then cleared his throat and started again. "It could be... more?" he asked, sounding so unsure, and hopeful. "If you want."

Rose blinked. She held very still, processing what he'd said, barely daring to move in this small space, wrapped up in an alien who'd finally... made a move. And then she smiled. He couldn't see it with her back to him, but she had never grinned so widely, she was sure. With just a few words from him, everything had changed. Or maybe nothing had, everything was finally shifting into place, and it just needed saying. Either way... yeah, she _wanted_. 

And the Doctor wanted her as she did him. Which she _knew_ , had known, though she never thought he'd do anything about it. But if he'd decided this would be the place to bring it up... well, she wasn't going to let it go. This was happening, right now, in a borrowed bed, 200 years ago. 

"Rose?"

Her heartbeat picked up a gallop, but she kept her voice steady. 

"Well," she said, pretending to consider, and felt him tense. "We _are_ married in the eyes of Miss Barrow."

He let out a short bark of a laugh and his whole body relaxed against her. 

"When in Regency England, then?"

"Definitely," she agreed. 

"Right." His lips pressed against her neck again, lingering, a little wetter, and pulled away with a slight smacking sound. Nothing clinical about that. 

"And... how is it? My temperature. "

"Warming up nicely." His voice was low and his breath warm at her ear and she couldn't stop the shiver from running through her then.

She had to see him, suddenly had to confirm this was not some fever dream, so she shifted to her other side underneath his arm, to see his face, inches from her own. In the dancing firelight, his eyes were warm and dark, smiling, though his lips were still and slightly parted.

She couldn't help but grin at him. "Anywhere else you'd like to check?"

"Well... You shivered a moment ago, so, best be sure."

They moved at the same time to close the space between them, the kiss more delicate than she wanted, but nonetheless perfect. And just as she slid a hand into his hair, and he groaned, and their lips parted, and the kiss was definitely going to deepen, a loud crack of thunder rumbled, shaking the little cottage. They separated, giggling like teenagers that'd been caught snogging. She pressed her lips together, trying to get her laughter under control. Laughter danced in his eyes too, but he sobered before she did.

"All right?" he asked, pushing her hair back from her face. He said it lightly, but she thought maybe he was giving her another chance to back out. She wasn't about to.

"Yup. But I'm getting cold again."

"Can't have that," he said, simply.

She shook her head in agreement, and pulled him toward her again by his delightfully bare shoulders (almost, but not quite, wishing he had a collar or some lapels to tug on), while shifting to her back. He took the hint and stretched his body above hers, slotting a knee between hers. They were kissing again in an instant, properly, tongues sliding, that lovely low groan of his sounding again when he tasted her, her body moving restlessly beneath his, her nightdress riding up, and so much skin against skin. So much and not enough.

He released her lips and she almost protested until his moved along her jaw, then her throat, then lower, then made a frustrated sound at the modest neckline of her borrowed nightgown.

"Hang on a tic," she muttered, and pushed him off her.

"What?" He drew his brows together, confused.

"Just need to get this off." She indicated the shift and started tugging at it.

"Oh," he said, eyes widening. "Of course. Yes. Good." 

She wondered briefly if she'd pushed things too far, taking this from snogging, to much more without much discussion, but then he sprung into action, shoving the blankets out of the way, neither of them, she imagined, caring that much about the cold anymore, and helped her shimmy out of and pull the gown off. 

"Oh," he said again when she was naked. And he was naked. And he saw all of her, and she saw _all_ of him.

Agreeing with the sentiment, she nodded and bit her lip, not feeling shy, exactly, but maybe... exhilarated and overwhelmed all at once. She wanted it all and didn't want to wait, but she also wanted to spend all night with his lips on her, wanted to memorize the sensation of his erection heavy and thick against her hip as he clambered over her again. And he was almost right in position then and it was all happening very quickly, but then he kissed her again, deeply and thoroughly, slowing things down. Slowing everything down until she didn't hear the rain or the thunder anymore. She felt her hands on his warm back, his tongue against hers, his fingers tangling in her hair, the damp strands of his brushing her face.

He seemed to remember his trajectory before the whole getting her naked bit, and moved from her mouth, down her neck. He looked up at her, eyes sparkling, when he reached her breasts. 

"You're so lovely," he said, not like a compliment, exactly, but more like a surprising empirical observation.

"Thanks?"

"I mean it. Human breasts, they come in so many shapes and sizes, and not to boast, but 900 years, you see a few pair..."

"Doctor—?

"—What I mean is. They're perfect. You're entirely perfect." He enveloped a nipple in his mouth and sucked gently before pulling away. "Why haven't I seen you naked before? Why haven't I _tasted_ you before?"

"Er," she squeaked, as he repeated the gesture on her other breast. "You never asked."

"I can be a bit of an idiot." He grinned, peppering kisses over her belly as he shifted lower down her body.

"Yeah, I'm getting that."

"Oi!"

But she distracted him from his indignation by shifting, letting her thighs fall open wider, a clear invitation. A half hour ago, she'd hidden her naked body from him behind a screen. And now she hadn't a single thought about modesty. Mostly she was thinking: _hadn't he said something about tasting?_

"Oh Rose," he said, dropping a wet kiss beneath her navel that set her heart racing even more quickly, and her body flushing even further. "May I?" he whispered in a low rumble.

"Yeah," she said, like _obviously, you can_ , lacking the fortitude at this moment to be gracefully sexy back at him. 

"Brilliant," he said, and then did taste her, a proper thorough glide of his tongue along her most sensitive flesh, exploring. It was only a moment of his tongue dancing around before he settled on circling her clit gently.

She could hear her own breathing, harsh through her nose, as she bit her lip. Measured breaths to control her reaction. Because if he laid any direct pressure, she'd come. She was that close, after only a few moments. It had... been a while after all. And she could, she could come just like this, but again, she was struck with the urge to slow this down. They had all this long night, after all, in this little bed, by the fire, beneath a storm. She found his hair with her hands and tugged, maybe a little hard, as he did run the flat of his tongue over her.

He looked up at her when she whimpered. "Is this... not? Have I done something wrong?"

She shook her head, the respite from the sensations giving her a second to find her voice. "No, you're all right. I'm just... close."

"Oh," he said, looking delighted with himself. "Shall I continue? I'd love to see you reach orgasm."

If it were anyone else, she might have grimaced at feeling a bit like a science experiment, but why _would_ he treat sex any differently than any other mundane miracle of the natural world? "You're so daft," she said, affectionately running her fingers through his hair. "Come up here."

"But I—''

"Come _here_ ," she ordered.

Looking puzzled, but not questioning her tone, he did as she said and crawled up her body again.

"Rose?" he asked, leaning awkwardly on one elbow, the other hand at her hip.

"You wanted to see."

"I... did, yes."

She reached down and took his hand, the one that was on her hip, and guided it to her centre. "So you can see," she explained, and gently nudged his hand lower, until his fingers found her entrance. 

He smiled, taking the hint and slipping a long finger easily inside her. "Your face, rather than your...?"

"This time."

"Have I ever told you, Rose Tyler..." he asked, as he set up a gentle rhythm, and then slipped another finger inside, avoiding her clit, like he too wanted this to last, "...that I love the way you think?"

"You can tell me again," she panted. "After."

"You're afraid that I won't find your..." He paused, and stilled his hand as well, like he was concentrating on coming up with a word, "...orgasm face attractive?"

"Oh my god, Doctor." She threw an arm over her face.

The Doctor giggled as he resumed his motions. "You didn't blush this much a few moments ago." He added another finger, sped up the thrusts just a little, and though he remained maddeningly gentle, she was soon right there at the edge again. "For the record," he whispered hotly in her ear, "you're always attractive to me."

She might have squeaked when she came. She definitely nearly dislodged him with the thrashing of her hips. She was surprised she didn't topple them both from the little bed.

She lay still, with her eyes closed, catching her breath. Maybe still half-wondering if this had really just happened.

"Huh," he said curiously, as he withdrew his hand, and flopped next to her on the bed, her sweaty shoulder against his.

"What?" she asked cracking an eye open, and not seeing much at this angle but his Time Lordy bits proudly on display.

"Your face. And your orgasm. There were two parts: complete taut, tension, every muscle in your face squeezed tight, and then this blissful relaxation. Equally beautiful."

She found the strength to lean up on an elbow and look at him. "That's... pretty normal, yeah? With your vast centuries of experience"—she poked him gently in the shoulder for emphasis— "you must have seen people come loads of times."

"I suppose." He was quiet for a moment. Thunder rumbled again, maybe a bit more distant now. "Never paid much mind, to be honest. And it has been a while. I could study your face for hours. Weeks," he said, sounding almost... worshipful, as he reached out and stroked her face. Then his tone, like his moods could, turned on a sixpence, back to teasing, and he pointed at her. "And Rose Tyler! I believe it's rude to bring up previous liaisons whilst engaging in marital relations with one's fake husband."

She let slide the fact that he'd done that first. Instead, she grinned at him indulgently. "What _would_ Miss Barrow say?"

"She'd probably wonder what all the dawdling was. Why I hadn't fucked you yet."

Even after all he'd just done to her, her eyes widened at the vulgar word he said with such relish, like he was freeing it from a cage and letting it soar.

"What?" he asked, at her expression.

"You're different in Regency England."

"Am I? Nah, I think... I'm different with you." He rolled over her, shifting her to her back and resuming his former position, his hips cradled between her thighs. "Or, I am now. Finally."

"More cursing? And shagging?"

"If you like."

His eyes fell shut as she reached between them, stroking him firmly before sliding the head of his cock in place. 

"Finally," she agreed. 

He pushed inside her in a smooth slide and she gasped at the sensation. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he leaned down to kiss her briefly, and his hips began to move. His movements were slow and careful at first, no rhythm she could try to meet. It felt nice, really nice, just having him there, seeing the pleasure and wonder on his face, in his eyes. But it was like he was being too careful with her. He was trembling slightly, as if he wanted to give in to it, to just fuck her _hard_ , but was holding back.

"Hey," she said, "I'm not gonna break."

He stilled above her, licking his lips before he spoke, sounding slightly strained. "The rain's moving off. Old thin walls. I'm afraid our hostess might hear."

"I can be quiet."

"The bed might not." He gave a sharp thrust in demonstration and the frame did knock against the wall a bit. And also, it felt fantastic. "Also, I... might not."

She bit her lip trying not to giggle.

"Well I don't know, do I?" he whined.

"If we scandalize anyone, I can leg it in the rain."

"Starkers?"

"I wouldn't want to wear those shoes again, anyway."

"That's another deal, then."

She moved restlessly beneath him. "Stop 'dawdling' and fuck me already, Doctor."

"Oh yes!" he said, half like he'd forgotten he was inside her, and half like a promise. He made good immediately, sinking down against her, his whole body against hers, sliding his arms beneath her shoulders and holding on tightly. She raised her knees as he thrust hard against her, quickly setting up a pounding rhythm. She closed her eyes and held on to him just as tightly, meeting his hips with her own. There was nothing gentle about this, and no, nothing quiet either. The quaking of the bed, the beautiful sounds he was making—grunts and gasps, her name again and again, and other things that might be words—and her groans when he moved just right, all of it combined was music to her ears.

She didn't expect to come again. She couldn't recall any other time anyone had ever made her come twice in a night, but there she was, right there again. Because they were _really_ good at this together, the slide of him inside her so perfect, coupled with the grind of their bodies together outside of her, to set fire to her every nerve.

"Rose. Are you—? Will you—? Can you—?" he tried to ask her.

"Almost," she breathed. "Please..."

He redoubled his efforts, whether for his benefit or hers, she wasn't sure. But the rhythm got sloppy, his thrusts erratic as he pushed harder against her. And if they were going to wake the mistress of the house and hadn't already, it would be now. He buried his head against her neck, maybe to muffle his shouts as he came. The sound vibrated against her, nearly as delicious as what he was doing to the rest of her. She revised her earlier thought; it would be _this_ moment, of all of them, she'd choose to memorize—when she brought him to this. When he stiffened and stopped, and she followed him into bliss.

They didn't speak for a while; she couldn't at first. Couldn't even open her eyes until her every last aftershock flutter ceased. When she collected herself and could look at him, he was smiling down at her. 

He kissed her briefly, then proclaimed, "Yup, thoroughly warmed through." 

"That's one way to put it."

He laughed, that unbridled giggle of pure delight that was a treat every time she got to hear it. He dropped another kiss on her shoulder and then gently shifted out of and off of her, and onto his back. She followed and turned to cuddle against his chest as he drew drew up the blankets over them again.

"Missed what _you_ look like when you finish, you know," she said, her fingers lightly playing with his smattering of chest hair, still half-marvelling that she _could_.

"My face is probably not as lovely as yours."

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "Everything else was pretty nice."

"Nice? Just nice?"

"Shut up. I know you could tell how _nice_ it was for me. Twice."

She let out a massive yawn, trying to stifle it against his chest.

"Go to sleep, Rose. Still have that walking to do tomorrow."

She groaned grumpily against his skin, and then raised her head. "Don't think I'm going to let you forget you still owe me that footrub, later."

He snorted. " _You_ owe me naked running."

"Yeah, but that was only if we got caught." 

"Ah," he said, running a hand down her bare spine, slowly and softly enough to cause her to shiver again. "Well, I know you're knackered, but we could give it another go?" 

 

FIN


End file.
